


So Show Me Family, So Show Me Love

by Starry_Wild



Category: A Heist With Markiplier (Web Series)
Genre: Comfort, Conflicting Feelings, Ending #12 Spoilers, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Post-Canon, Spoilers, inner conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 02:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21291803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starry_Wild/pseuds/Starry_Wild
Summary: Parting ways had been so, so difficult. And while prison life seemed easy before, now all Yancy did every day was think of her out on the other side without him.
Relationships: Yancy Iplier/Reader, Yancy/Reader, Yancy/You
Comments: 10
Kudos: 131





	So Show Me Family, So Show Me Love

_ "So tell me… Do you still wanna be free?“_

_ The newblood inmate gave him a photograph, oh so trustingly. She didn’t know him. How did she hand over something so sentimental and have the faith that he wouldn’t destroy it? He could’ve torn it apart, right then and there, just to make a point. He wouldn’t, though. Never._

_ "Oh,” he had managed out instead. Familiar anxieties and hang-ups rose up at the back of his mind while his body handed back the picture. “So, youse the type a person with one a those ‘family types’ waitin’ for ya on the outside, eh?”_

_ She just nodded, taking back the picture of her loved ones. There was a look in her eyes he hadn’t seen before, especially not in any of the boys who joined him and stuck around in prison with the whole gang. She was different_ _— she was determined. Yet Yancy still tried; so he could save her from the disappointment and judgement that awaited in the outside world._

_ A pause, then a deep breath. “I, too, was once also one a those 'familial types’,” he began as his voice cracked, but he braved on through the words he shared to try and succeed in his mission, “before the inciden…ces. Well, forget it! It’s best if you just forget about 'dose family bonds of youse’s: they ain't worth it! They’re always just gonna leave ya behind, so best to just stick to with what’s youse’s!" _ _Her eyes widened at the blatant emotion he showed: the sound of his choked-back tears, sniffling, and voice breaking. Sympathy swam through the colorful hues, and he forced himself to reign in those memories that had began to resurface and calm down again. He couldn’t let her leave. It was better there, in the prison. They could be her new family_ _— one that actually cared. _ _"The past ain’t the kind a thing to be trifled wit.” Still, she didn’t looked convinced. Empathetic, sure; yet there was an unspoken apology lingering in her gaze. _

_ He decided he would have to give her the ultimatum: stay, or leave. But somehow he knew what her choice would be. That kind of determination doesn’t go away with some sob story from a felon you don’t know. Hell, maybe she really loved them, the people supposedly waiting for her on the outside. But that would only hurt her more, he knew._

_ So he gave her the choice: “Ya gonna stick with us, or go out on your own?”_

_ His guess was right. Of course it was. A shame: he never liked it when things came down to a fight._

**—**

It’s been almost an entire year since the young, unwavering woman had came then went. But it wasn’t like when one of the guards rambled, the sound going through one ear and out the other in a purposeless way— this prisoner entered shrouded in mystery and intrigue, then left with a piece that he was suddenly aware was missing in Happy Trails once she took it back with her. It was an enigma, the way she lingered in the space, an enigma just like the intricately-carved box she had held and been so relieved and thankful for when Yancy got it back for her. 

How had she managed to change him so completely? Even that first day, when she _literally _knocked some sense into him (knocked him right on his ass, which he was still quite impressed with), she had irrevocably altered his way of thinking that Yancy hadn’t even been aware of beforehand, because he didn't have the perspective to see it until she appeared out of the blue. So he had helped her escape— where she once again showed so much faith when she trusted him to guide her blindly through the maze of prison shortcuts and secret routes. It had almost felt like a form of intimacy, helping her move through the dark with guiding hands innocently resting on her shoulders or arms or back. The entire time she followed, uncomplaining, regardless of the suspicious or unsettling noises that may have sounded. It had been so admirable, and still was when recalled to memory. Then after they were finally there, with her on the other side of those gates and him still confined…

Before that moment, Yancy hadn’t felt trapped in Happy Trails in a long time, probably since the first week he had been incarcerated; yet the moment he took in the sight of her standing tall beyond those bars as though she were ready to handle everything the world threw at her… There was an inarguable sense of feeling _constrained_ that he couldn’t shake off the entire way back to solitary confinement. As time went on, the feeling didn’t ease. Far from, in fact. Every day it grew, her absence and the way she had taught them all being the starting gun to the race of thoughts that occured in his brain.

Then there was the day she came back. It had been a little over two weeks after she broke out, and she was _there_. Disguised, sure, but _there. _And he recognized her more easily than he ever imagined (sometimes, in those sleepless nights, he would stay up until dawn just staring at the ceiling and picturing her visit— occasionally believing it would never become reality). It was her familiar voice, then her smile, then the way her eyes lit up as soon as the guards had walked him into the visitation room. At first, he had been reluctant to believe the truth of his reality; he questioned how likely it was that a mistake had been made rather than her _actually _being there, ready to see him. But what cemented the truth and grounded him was his eyes being magnetically dragged to the tattoo on her wrist. The tattoo they shared: a tiny cartoon box character surrounded by hearts that was an inside reference only they understood. His fingers had mindlessly wandered up to the matching mark on his neck, and he was put at ease. All that was left after the apprehension drained away was _elation _and _relief_. From that point on, she visited every single time: every third sunday, she was a guaranteed event, and the guards knew it. There she’d stand in the middle of the visitation room by the same table, waiting patiently while wearing an infectious grin and silly disguise. With every visit, he was relieved of the claustrophobic pressure the prison had began to inflict on him; yet with every departure it only began to be worse.

Today it was pretty bad.

Ask any of the prisoners, and you'd be told that Yancy wasn’t a hooligan: he abided by the prison rules, kept the peace among his inmate family, and offered a friendly hand to those who needed it. However, as that year had dragged on, there was an unitchable scratch crawling beneath his skin. It agitated him, made him more moody and borderline snappy with the people he had once called his friends. But all he could think about was the walls closing in that separated him from the girl he had come to… _care _very much for. It didn’t help that the next visit day wasn’t until another week; not to mention that the last time they spoke over the phone, Yancy had accidentally fallen asleep sitting in the chair he dragged close to the phone installed into the wall. The border of his tan skin and dark hair at his temple had been pressed against the smooth, white-painted bricks; her voice (though she was unaware of its calming effect) lulled him into relaxation and eventually seduced him into sleep right there in the chair, hunched over and leaning on the wall. By the time he had woken up, all his saved-up phone time was gone, both the lovers having snoozed them away together.

No calls, no visits: not until the upcoming Sunday. So, in short, he was stressed.

It was why he had accidentally (yes, _accidentally_, and he will happily debate that until his face turned blue) began a fight— a fight that he won, as the other prisoner surrendered with an angry grimace— and earned reproach from the warden.

"Is there a fightin’ anniversary for you, Yancy, that I wasn’t aware of when you were first admitted here into Happy Trails?“ Murder-Slaughter’s voice had a deceivingly kind tone that Yancy had once believed in. The man used to be like a father figure to him, after all. But now he’s changed, his beliefs mixed up then set straight by the girl arrested then freed a year ago.

"No, sir,” he muttered out as an answer instead. His nerves were still set on edge, the knuckles on his right hand feeling tender in a way that informed him they would be bruised by the next day.

"Some of your fellow inmates here have informed me that you’ve been actin’ a little frustrated lately. Been arguin’ more, pacin’ your cell and the like.“

"I s'pose they may be right, Mr. Warden.”

Sharp eyes threateningly narrowed, Murder-Slaughter staring him down and sizing him up. “Do you like it here, Yancy?”

“What kind a question is 'dat?”

It was an almost indignant response, one he didn’t even think about before it just slipped out, and yet he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. He didn’t want to answer the interrogative inquiry, the subject being too personal this long after the events from a year ago. Things changed, and he wanted to keep the woman and her business outside these prison walls. If he answered honestly, his answer would have included her.

"Talk to me like that again, boy, and I’ll toss you outta here right back into the outside world. No more musical numbers about the 'good life’ we give you here in Happy Trails.“

_One single peep outta you, one single squeak outta you, one microscopic iota of auditory projection, and I will toss your tuchus straight out of this prison, right back into normal society. _It was the same threat he had heard the warden give to her the day Yancy helped her escape, his menacing voice fading as the guards had led him toward solitary confinement. And the woman hadn’t uttered a word, despite wanting to be free. _Why? _

Had it been because of… _him_? Concern for his well-being after he was sentenced the punishment? He thought back to the day she left often, yet somehow it was only now he realized a theory towards her silence toward the warden so many months ago.

"Go right ahead.” His mouth pushed out the words with zero input from his brain, and panickedly he berated himself: _my friends are here, I can’t afford living out there, I’ll be judged again just like with my family__—_

_But she’s out there. She’d help me._

Yancy looked the warden directly in the eyes, the man who’s violent tendencies were infamous… And did not apologize.

**—**

“Yancy!” It was the first exclamation he heard, stepping outside the gates. It was sunny out, a perfect balance of a summer day. The light reflected off the painted-black gates, sunlight warming the light bricks that constructed the wall of the prison. The grass outside the walls was so green, with large portions of tiny flowers populating some of the areas. The clothes he was given as he was prepared for “assimilation into regular society” were plain and form-fitting: a light gray shirt with dark slacks, black cap toe shoes fitting a little too snugly around his feet. The now-free prisoner paid attention to everything yet none of it, eyes moving away from where they had been staring back at the prison to the woman who was hurrying his way. His brain still felt lost and in disbelief that he was really walking away from the place he had called home, and so he supposed it was lucky his heart knew what to do instead.

Opening his arms wide, Yancy grinned without restraint as the woman launched herself into his arms, clutching onto him tightly. She was so _soft_, and warm. Her outfit was light and comfortable for the summer season, and that ridiculous disguise she usually had to wear was completely abandoned. Maybe she had been so shocked to receive the brief call he had been allowed to explain his sudden release. Maybe she was done hiding, unafraid of the warden’s power. Regardless, it was _her_, and Yancy embraced her with all he could without risking hurting her.

It was minutes before they pulled apart, the young woman’s eyes a little wet though there were no tears. Apprehension slowly began to creep and lurk around the front of his mind, making him hesitate as old memories of his folks reminded him…

"I… I have nowhere to go, ya know, but… But if ya don’t want me to stay wit’ you, I’ll find anotha way. I don’t wanna be holdin’ you up—"

Her finger was suddenly there, pressing against his lips in a motion to hush him and silence his words. He read her face as easily as the letters she had sent to him in the prison, ones that he had kept close on the loneliest, most stressful nights. Emotions that couldn’t quite be explained, yet he understood just fine. The edges of his lips— still being lightly pushed on by the digit— quirked up into a charming grin, which the girl before him mirrored in a breathtaking way. The second she pulled back her hand, he was sweeping her up with all his strength and holding her above the ground against his sturdy chest. Their lips met, the kiss hindered by their wide smiles, but it still felt like a breath of fresh air to him. He was swept right off his feet, the heart in his chest feeling lighter than a feather despite the way it pounded; on the other hand, the woman still held securely in his arms still grinned a mega-watt smile as she pushed back the hair that fell into her face.

"Let’s go home,“ she hummed, voice coming out soft and sweet and considerate. Her hypnotic eyes were searching his, a question that he already understood and answered without hesitation.

"I’m already home, now. But! Let’s get goin’ to 'dis nice little house you mentioned in your letters, yeah?”

She laughed, the sound full of happiness and resonating in his ears oh-so pleasantly. “Of course, Yancy. I’ve got some vintage vinyls I think you’ll just love to dance to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! Hope you liked it. If you did, don't forget to leave kudos!
> 
> If you want to see more/have any requests, those can be sent to my ask box there or just comment here!
> 
> Until next time, babes <3


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